Fairy Fingers Part 67

"What is it? Who is there?" he cried out, at last.

"It is I, Madeleine. Nine o'clock has just struck. We will breakfast as soon as you are ready to come into the dining-room."

She returned to her boudoir and made a hasty toilet, subst.i.tuting, for her simple white wrapper, another, somewhat richly embroidered, and trimmed with pale blue ribbons. We reluctantly venture upon the suggestion, for it would indicate a decided weakness, quite unworthy of Madeleine's good sense; but there is just a possibility that she remembered she was to breakfast once more with her lover, and her artistic eye selected the most becoming morning-dress in her possession.

Ruth had breakfasted some hours before; Madeleine and Maurice sat down to table alone. In spite of the grief which lay in the depths of both their hearts, it must be avowed that both experienced a sense of calm felicity which made them shrink from contemplating the past, or looking forward to the future; the delicious _present_ was all sufficient.

Maurice wondered at himself,--was almost angry with himself,--and then he looked across the table and wondered no longer.

Madeleine was less astonished at her own pleasant emotions. Partly through discipline, and partly through temperament, she always caught up all the sunshine of the pa.s.sing hour, even though she did not lose sight of the clouds that lay in the distant horizon. And how often the present beams had pierced their way through thick darkness to reach her!

"Come and tell me what you think of my invention," said she, as they rose from the table and opened the door which led into the hall.

The upholsterer had already completed his work. A crimson drapery was suspended from the ceiling to the ground, along the whole length of the entry, and entirely shut out the staircase. At the street door this drapery was so skilfully arranged that a person visiting the apartments on the first floor could, at once, pa.s.s out of sight.

"Will not these curtains render this portion of the house quite secluded? I hope they will make your grandmother feel less aversion to coming here."

"What resources you have, Madeleine! And how kindly you employ your fertile ingenuity! _Who_ would have thought of such an arrangement?"

"Why _any one_ who took the trouble to sit down and think about the matter at all! Possibly some people might not have been in the habit of exercising their ingenuity enough to do that; but _any one_ who took the trouble to reflect how the desired object could be accomplished would have seen the difficulties melt away."

"Under the touch of 'Fairy Fingers,'" returned Maurice, admiringly.

"Ah, that is an old superst.i.tion of yours which you have not quite outlived. Will you not go to your grandmother now? She may be expecting you, and must be anxious for news."

"She showed great anxiety last night," replied Maurice, bitterly.

"Maurice, we have no right to judge her! Unless we ourselves have experienced her sensations, we cannot even comprehend her state. Speak to her this morning as though you had parted in all affection yesterday; and bring her here, if you can. For her own sake try to bring her."

Shortly after Maurice left, Madeleine received another letter from Lord Linden. Finding that she did not reply to the first, he had called upon her twice on the day previous; but, greatly to his mortification, had been denied. Later in the day, his wounded vanity was somewhat soothed by learning the calamity which had befallen Count Tristan, at Madeleine's house; though his lordship could hardly deem even such an event sufficient excuse for her tardiness in replying to a letter of so much importance. In reality, Madeleine had entirely forgotten her suitor and his letter. She glanced hastily over his second epistle, and, without further delay, wrote a few frigid lines conveying a definite refusal of the proposed honor with which he had followed his proposition of dishonor.

It is needless to describe Lord Linden's emotions when this response reached him. Madeleine's language was so cuttingly cold, yet so full of dignity, that he could only curse the rash blindness which could have permitted him to make dishonorable advances to such a woman. He ordered his trunk to be packed, and left Washington by that afternoon's train.

Bertha had not seen Madame de Gramont from the time she locked herself in her chamber until the breakfast hour, next day. The maid Mademoiselle de Merrivale brought with her from Paris was in the habit of attending the countess as punctiliously as she did her own mistress; but her services were, for the first time, dispensed with on the night previous.

Bertha was oppressed by a vaguely uncomfortable sensation when she entered the room where breakfast awaited her, and found the apartment vacant. In a few moments the countess entered.

How frightfully old she had grown in a single night! Her step, which used to be so firm and measured, was feeble, uncertain, and heavy.

Sixty-six years had not bowed her straight shoulders; but now they stooped. The blow of an iron hand had bent them at last! Her features had grown sharp and hard, and the lines looked as though they had been cut to twice their usual depth; the mouth appeared to have fallen, the corners pressing downward; one might have thought that tears had scalded away the l.u.s.tre and dimmed the vision of the dark eyes that yesterday flashed with such steel-like brilliancy. The soft, white locks, that were usually arranged with so much skill, hung partially uncurled, and scarcely smoothed about her face, adding to the desolation of her whole appearance.

Bertha was impressed with greater awe than she had ever experienced toward her aunt in the latter's most imperious moments; yet the young girl mustered courage to advance and embrace her,--more timidly, perhaps, but also more tenderly than was her wont. The countess permitted her own cold lips to sweep Bertha's forehead; but they could hardly be said to press upon it a kiss.

As they sat at table, Bertha, whose tongue had a gift for prattling, could not make an effort to speak. The countess had not tasted food since the light, noonday repast of the day previous, yet she now swallowed her cup of coffee as though it nearly choked her, and tried, in vain, to force down a few morsels of bread. Nothing would have induced her to depart from the custom of her country where coffee and bread are considered all-sufficient for the first meal.

They had returned to the drawing-room when Maurice entered. The countess greeted him with an inclination of the head, but asked no questions.

"My father seems to be in the same state," said he. "There was no change during the night; he does not appear to suffer; but, as yet, he is not conscious."

Madame de Gramont made no reply, but her breast visibly heaved.

"Did you sit up?" asked Bertha. "Are you not very much fatigued? Did Madeleine watch also? Is she not very weary?"

"Not very; nor am I." Then he turned to his grandmother. "Will you come with me to see my father? You will find that every arrangement possible has been made for your privacy."

The lips of the countess curled scornfully, but she rose and pa.s.sed into her chamber.

"I must make ready also," cried Bertha, flying out of the room. "I am so glad that we are to go."

She returned wearing her bonnet and mantle. It was sometime before the countess reentered, prepared to depart.

Maurice had ordered a carriage, and they were soon at Madeleine's door.

If the countess noticed the draperies which closed off a portion of the house, she gave no sign of doing so.

Madeleine was sitting beside Count Tristan, but rose to yield her place to his mother. Madame de Gramont only betrayed that she was aware of her niece's presence by a slight movement of the head, while her eyes looked past her toward the pa.s.sive figure lying on the bed. She took the vacant seat with a sort of frozen quietude, and her limbs seemed to settle themselves rigidly into positions where they remained immovable.

Madeleine at once retired, knowing that her presence must be galling to the proud relative whom circ.u.mstance thus forced into contact with her; nor did she reenter the room again while the countess was there. Maurice remained with his father and grandmother, but Bertha stole away to Madeleine's boudoir.

M. de Bois, who had called to inquire after the count, and to know of what service he could be, found the cousins together. Madeleine, whose wealth of energy rendered idleness, when it could be avoided, another name for weariness, had seated herself at her desk, and was making sketches for Ruth to copy. Bertha sat beside her, destroying pencils in her awkward attempt to sharpen them. Madeleine did not desist from her occupation, but Bertha's was quickly at an end.

She and her lover conversed for a while; then Gaston offered to show her Madeleine's conservatory, and then they pa.s.sed into the garden. What wonder that they found unknown charms in the opening flowers! Was it not a spring morning? And was there not spring in their hearts? Was it not life's blossoming season with them?

At noon luncheon was served; and Madeleine, in remembrance of her guests, had given such especial instructions to Mrs. Lawkins that the luncheon closely resembled the _dejeuner a la fourchette_ served at that hour in France. As Bertha was still in the garden, Madeleine pa.s.sed into the conservatory and called her.

"Will you not go in, Bertha, and see if you can induce the countess to accompany you and Maurice to the dining-room? Say that I will remain with Count Tristan while they take luncheon."

Bertha went on her errand, but quickly returned with Maurice.

"My aunt does not seem disposed to eat."

In reality Bertha had received no answer from the countess. Did Madeleine expect that Madame de Gramont would break bread under her roof? The haughty aristocrat would sooner have perished of hunger.

"Then we will go to table together," replied the hostess, disappointed, in spite of herself. "M. de Bois, you will join us?"

The meal pa.s.sed off very quietly, but very pleasantly. Bertha and Gaston were happy enough in each other to have thought a repast of bread and cheese a banquet. Maurice could not but be penetrated by the charm of sharing Madeleine's home; and, at table, where she presided with such graceful ease, he never forgot that it was in _her_ home he was dwelling. Madeleine herself could not gaze upon the little circle of beloved ones, from whom she had been so long separated, and who were now so singularly drawn around her, without feeling supremely happy. In the midst of sorrow there are often given, to soften and render it endurable, pa.s.sing flashes of absolute joy.

When they rose from table Maurice returned to his father's chamber. His grandmother still sat erect and statue-like in her chair as though she had not moved.

The hours flew by only too rapidly with Bertha, however they might have dragged in the sick-chamber. M. de Bois, also, must have lost all consciousness of time, for he did not propose to take his departure, and could Madeleine, even by a hint, dismiss him from her own house?

"Past five o'clock," said she, looking up from her drawing. "Bertha, pray ask Maurice to come to me."

When Maurice obeyed the summons, Madeleine remarked, showing him her watch, "You see how late it is; I fear the countess will become exhausted for want of food. It is in vain to hope that she could be induced to dine here; had you not better conduct her home and return?"

"Yes, certainly; it would be the wisest plan; how thoughtful you are!"

"Shall I send for a carriage? I fear she would not enter mine, or I would order that."

"I suppose not; it is wonderful to what cruel and inconsistent length she carries her pride."

"It is not our place, Maurice, to measure its length or a.n.a.lyze its workings. There is Robert in the hall; tell him to call a carriage."